Never is Impossible
by Seshat
Summary: A short D/G ficlet from Draco's PoV. Please read and review!


Disclaimer: I did not invent Draco or Ginny, I swear.  
  
A/N: Just another short little thing. This is dedicated to Xaviera Xylira who inspired me with her awesome writing. She's written a lot of short stories in the HP universe and they're terrific! Check them out! This is a D/G ficlet because I'm fascinated by that couple and since my plans for a full length D/G story have been put on, er, hold, this will make me feel better. Tell me what you think. Oh, and nearly all my ideas for other stories (short or novel–length) are contradictory to the It's So Difficult universe, this has nothing to do with that. Pretend they're in parallel dimensions or something. Here goes.  
  
Never is Impossible  
  
  
It's difficult to pinpoint the moment I first fell in love with her. Can anyone pick out the specific moment in their lives when they fell in love with that special someone? Well, I can't. I certainly denied it long enough. Loving her, I mean. It really wasn't an option. Our families were just too different. I was from a rich background, used to privilege and getting my way. I was spoiled in other words. She, well, she was from a poor family, used to struggling for a place in the world. My father would have forbidden it had he known. But she was amazing and for her I'd do anything.  
  
It took me years to even notice her. I mean, sure, I teased her, but it wasn't really about her. I just wanted to get under her brother's skin. It worked, too. I guess I never thought about her feelings, as if she wasn't really a person. It was easy to overlook her in the beginning. She was a shadow. I just never really saw her. She was invisible.  
  
Then in my last year I suddenly saw this ray of sunshine enter my universe. It was as if someone had turned on my mind and heart and all I saw was her. She was a delicate flower amidst the cold frosts of winter. She was spirit personified. She had so much beauty. Except that she wasn't beautiful. She was pretty, to be sure, but not beautiful. It was just that she radiated this sort of self–confidence and quiet strength. And when she smiled my world lit up.  
  
At first it was absolutely unacceptable and I thought I was going out of my mind. I couldn't be in love with her, not her! I would run away when she came my direction, I was cruel to her when I couldn't avoid her. I treated her abominably. She cried because of me and my heart shattered. I made her hate me. Her soft brown eyes flashed when she saw me, she joined her brother in ridiculing my name. I lost her before I knew I wanted her.  
  
When I finally stopped denying that part of myself, it was as if a load had been lifted off my shoulders. The only problem was I had no idea how to deal with it. Feelings for her often threatened to overtake my soul and change me, but I couldn't change who I was; not even for her. My soul was the core of who I was. Without that I was nothing. And it was that very selfishness that kept her from me.  
  
I encountered her one day in the greenhouse—alone. It was then that everything happened. When my world crumbled and was born again anew, like a phoenix. I had entered, searching for a missing assignment, and there she was. Her cheeks were smudged, her robes dirty, and her hair was in disarray. She never looked more lovely.   
  
I must have made some noise because as soon as I stepped over the threshold of the greenhouse, she looked up. I saw the hate and anger in her eyes, and then I saw something else. Fear. She was afraid of me.  
  
"What do you want?" she asked.   
  
"Nothing," I replied simply. "What are you doing?"  
  
She was startled. I knew she had prepared herself for insults and cruelty, so my bland statement took her by surprise. She fumbled with the pot she had been pouring over and I came to her rescue, catching it before it fell.  
  
"What is this?" I asked. "I've never seen this flower before."  
  
She snatched it from my hands. Her smooth skin brushed against mine for a second. Then it was gone.  
  
"It's a blue moon flower. It's called that because it only blooms once in a blue moon," she said shortly.  
  
I said nothing. We stood there for a few minutes in silence.   
  
Then she cried out angrily. "Why do you hate me?" she demanded. "Why do you torture me? Why can't you just leave me alone?"  
  
Still silent, I did as she asked. I turned and walked away, I wouldn't hurt her anymore. It served no purpose.  
  
I was almost outside when she stopped me.  
  
"Wait. Is that it? You just leave?" Her eyes locked on mine, beseeching. She was begging me for an answer.  
  
"You told me to leave, so I will." I folded my arms across my chest.   
  
"Why are you here?" she asked suddenly.  
  
"I came for an assignment. I didn't know you were here. I apologize."  
  
"Tell me the truth," she said fiercely. "Why do you hate me?"  
  
"I don't," I said honestly. She flushed, grasping the deeper meaning behind those two simple words. I suppose the expression on my face had been eloquent. I had discovered that disguising one's emotions in one's voice is easy enough, but the face is harder.  
  
"What do you mean?" she said. She had to be certain she knew what I was saying. And looking into her eyes, the eyes in which I often found myself drowning, I confessed all. I had nothing to lose.  
  
"I love you. I have for a long time. I just love how you light up a room when you enter, how you light a fire inside me that keeps me warm, how you don't need to emphasize your worth. I think you're amazing. Not many people understand you, but I do. I know what makes you laugh, I know what makes you cry. I know who you really are and I love that part of you."  
  
When I finished pouring out all the cliched expressions of my undying devotion I could think of, I waited for some sort of response. I wasn't sure what I expected. I knew what I wanted, some clue that she could have feelings for me as well, but I knew better than to hope for it. I simply waited for her reaction, good or bad, I needed to know what it was.  
  
She had turned a vibrant shade of red, nearly the same color as her hair. Her eyes flashed, and I could see she was repulsed by me. I had wounded her again. I wasn't sure how, but I had. She poured out her pain and anger on my head.  
  
"Never," she whispered harshly. "Never. Not if you were the last man on Earth. How could you even think that I would return such obviously false, and so very wrong, feelings? After everything you have done to my family, to me, how could you ever think I could love you? Never."  
  
I slowly turned cold. My heart became encased in a block of ice, my blood froze. I felt as if I were made of steel. I had placed my heart and emotions out there for her and she had taken an axe and chopped them to pieces. But I would not show my pain, I was too proud for that. Pride is a dangerous thing. In my family, it's a curse. I turned and walked out of the greenhouse. The sounds of her sobs reached my ears as I waded my way through the snow back to the castle.   
  
Never. Never is a long time. No matter what she said, no matter what she did, I would continue to love her. I promised myself that. Love doesn't disappear just because the object of one's affections doesn't return them. Love is made of stronger stuff, and I didn't give up. I would never give up.   
  
I never spoke to her again. I spent the remainder of the year avoiding her. She tried to approach me once or twice, but the look in my eyes sent her running. Like I said, the face cannot hide what the heart feels. I became a shadow in my own right, avoiding people, haunting the library, the forest, wherever I thought I might be alone. Then I graduated and knew I would never see her again. That was how I wanted it. I would love her from afar, but I wouldn't have to see her.  
  
That was eight years ago. I am still in Asia, and I still love her. I tried a few times over the years to stop, but it's impossible. I think I will love her until I die. I often think of her hair of red–gold, her sparkling brown eyes, and her sweet smile. As I sit in this tiny pub, I'm thinking of her. I'm always thinking of her. Suddenly she walks back into my life.  
  
Her hair is longer and thicker, she is taller than she used to be, and she dresses differently. Otherwise, she looks the same. Still amazing. My throat is caught. I mean to run, but I can't. I can't move. Her eyes travel around the room, those wonderful warm brown eyes. They pass right over me. But then they come back. She walks over to me.  
  
"I never thought I'd see you again," she says. "Never."  
  
There it is, that word again. The first thing I think to say sounds so stupid to my ears.  
  
"Never is a long time, forever in fact. Never is impossible."  
  
She met my piercing gaze, completely unafraid. One thing is for sure, she is a little girl no longer.  
  
"Sometimes, never is forever," she says, almost gently. "Not so impossible, I think. I meant everything I said. I still mean it."  
  
"I know," I reply. "I knew it then. I understand. But that changes nothing. I meant what I said too."  
  
The fear is back in her eyes. The same fear I saw eight years ago.  
  
"What are you so afraid of?" I ask. I have to know.  
  
She doesn't speak for a long time. When she does, there is no anger, no sadness, and the fear disappears. "I am afraid of loving a monster."  
  
The ice melts. The steel shatters. My heart begins to beat again, feeling returns to my body. I am no longer numb. I feel the emotion surge through my blood once more.  
  
"Perhaps the monster you think you know is only a scared and confused boy. A boy who never understood himself. A boy who was only human when he loved you."  
  
She is silent. Thinking, I can tell. She doesn't run away, she doesn't cry, she doesn't spit in my face. She thinks. I can see the thoughts pass through her mind. She is radiant, more beautiful than ever before. She holds herself with confidence. She has almost as much pride as I do.  
  
"Perhaps this boy should have considered my feelings before he so callously professed his love. Perhaps he should have recalled what he was before he loved me. How he behaved; like a monster. Perhaps it was not so surprising that I reacted as I did, for I did not know the boy, I knew the monster."  
  
My world is suddenly upside–down. I never thought of that before. I assumed that when I confessed my feelings, it would either affect her or it wouldn't. I never realized she didn't know me. But how could she? I never knew myself.  
  
I swallow. "Then perhaps the best thing to do would be to get to know the boy before you kill him, mistaking him for the monster."  
  
She looks at me. Softly she says, "Haven't I already?"  
  
"No," I whisper.  
  
"Alright then," she whispers back. "I shall get to know the boy."  
  
Then she kisses me. And everything falls into place.  
  
"I will never hurt you," I whisper. "Never."  
  
And she replies, "Never is impossible."  
  
  
  



End file.
